


i think i've had enough

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Hotels, Inspired by Fanart, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Self-acceptance takes many forms. Sitting in front of an air conditioner tending to wounds is one.





	i think i've had enough

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this lovely piece](http://armellin.tumblr.com/post/164612779560) by Armellin!

Dean’s fingers tighten around the gauze, his bicep throbbing; the pain sends a wave of pain through his arm and up his shoulder, where it ceases and stills. Two hours—two hours, and it still hurts, the claw marks on his neck and back almost a constant ache; his arm bears the worst of it, a gash that cut close to the bone, deep enough to need several sets of stitches. Advil doesn’t work; neither does ointment or ice packs or letting cold water beat on his back.

It hurts, and Dean can’t rest.

Sam and Castiel haven’t left their hotel room since the incident, not after Dean threatened both of them bodily if they touched him. Emotions were running high, yes—a werewolf just tried to rip his spine out of his back, for God’s sakes—but that was no excuse for his behavior, nor was it an excuse for shutting himself in one of their two hotel rooms and refusing help. He can take care of himself; he can stitch himself back together, he can dry-swallow pills, he can put his shirt on and pretend everything is okay.

But it’s not. Nothing has been okay for a while, and nothing will ever make it alright. He’ll continue to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders in his self-imposed exile, and he’ll refuse gentle hands and kind smiles, because the least he deserves, after the lives he’s taken and the people he could’ve saved, is comfort.

Shirtless, he runs his fingers over the gauze and stares out of the partially-covered window, out at the unoccupied rooms across the courtyard and the unlit sign, and bathes in the sunlight, warm on his skin despite the air conditioner purring to life at his knees. The first time it’s been out in a week, and Dean has to spend his morning indoors, nursing wounds he can’t even keep track of anymore. Over the years, the scars began to blend together and merge into one; these will be just another to add to his collection, ugly and untouchable, like the rest of him.

 _I’m selfish_ , he thinks, eyes slipping closed. He lets out a breath through his nose and slackens his shoulders, tilts his chin to the sun. _This is what I deserve. And this is what’s gonna get me killed, and I can’t stop it_.

His fingers trace the slashes on his neck, rough and beginning to scab over. Once the bruises set in, he’ll regret ever setting foot in this town; the only injuries he can’t treat with pills or alcohol, the mottled purpled marks that blot his skin and remind him in the mirror of just how impermanent he is. A soul set to live for forty, maybe fifty years if he’s lucky, loveless and alone, living out of the back of a car with twenty bucks in his wallet and a prayer.

 _You deserve it_ , Dean's mind tells him. He doesn’t fight it this time.

The air conditioner cuts off just as the door opens, letting in a rush of early morning humidity. Even without opening his eyes, Dean knows who it is, just by his air and the swish of fabric in his wake. Castiel sits at his side on the mattress, silent yet steady; he’s always been Dean’s rock, no matter how much he denies it to himself. Behind closed doors, they fall into each other’s circles and linger too close, all hushed words and even quieter looks.

Here, there’s nothing but the silence of the morning and solid, sure breaths. Dean rubs the gauze and turns his head to see Castiel’s eyes on him, imploring and concerned, but he won’t ask. Until Dean’s ready to talk, Castiel will sit and keep watch, and Dean will soften in his presence, until the burden lessens and for a split second, he can breathe once again.

“Sorry,” Dean mutters; the air conditioner kicks on, cooling his overheated knees. Deep in his heart, he is, and always will be, for more things than he can remember and everything he can’t forget. Last night just adds to the things he regrets; to his relief, Castiel never takes it to heart. Maybe Castiel doesn’t understand, or doesn’t care, or maybe he knows the truth, the words Dean can’t say but drip from his tongue, aching to be spoken.

Maybe Castiel has always known, and despite that, he’s stayed. Immovable, permanent, a light in the storm.

Dean leans his head on Castiel’s shoulder and lets his warmth bleed into him, lets it soothe him down to his soul, to where it’s never quite stopped hurting. With Castiel’s hand on his bare thigh, though, he starts to think that maybe, just maybe, he can have this one thing, what he’s wanted all his life. Someone to lean on. Someone to talk to, someone to just sit with in silence.

Someone to love.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Gary Allan song.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
